Wicked Heart
by ricecakes.anemonies.benzene
Summary: She was cast into a Jashinist hell as soon as she arrived in that world. It's no wonder she didn't make it. /"I will bleed. I will despair. I will cry, and hate, and scream. But I will also run, and laugh, and love. I will live."/ SI OC, but not really.
1. Ignorance

"Wicked heart; evil design"

I used to be a normal, if a tad secluded, sixteen-year-old. And then I died. And was born again.

Unsuspecting, I was born into hell.

* * *

><p><strong>Circumstance<strong>

**Mistake I: Ignorance**

_I say there is no darkness but ignorance._

_-William Shakespeare_

* * *

><p>I cannot say when I first became aware of my imprisonment. As such, I cannot speculate, except on the broadest of terms, as to the extent of time I was conscious in my cage. I do, however, remember everything of my time in limbo, where I was unable to move, to breathe, to cry.<p>

At first, there was nothing to do but think, try to remember how I got where I was, but my memories of the last time I was free were hazy at best; the most I could make out was the smell of cinnamon and dried leaves, and blue eyes. I worked myself into a frenzy, picking apart my brain for some clue. It was an entirely fruitless endeavor, and, after a while, I grew sick of the train of thought and gave up.

I tried music as well. I played my favorite songs in my head, over and over, until they were so compacted in there that they all merged together into a mishmosh of thought and song. I forgot myself in my cycle of despair and self-pity and loneliness and terror.

I lost myself. I thought myself in hell [_**and I gave up**_].

...[_who am I?_]

.

The cage shrank as time passed (_or did I grow?_) and I could physically feel myself taking shape, growing bigger, stronger. I regained some of my mobility, and fancied that I could hear a voice, distorted and dampened, yet somehow soothing. As I solidified I began to collect my fragmented thoughts, reform myself, foster the hope that one day, I would be able to escape. I grew to the point that I could feel the edge of my prison.

But I didn't stop growing. I took to kicking and punching at my cage whenever I could muster the strength. More and more, I became aware of the walls that were squeezed into me, and became more and more fearful that one day the cage would grow too small and I could be crushed.

[_though, would it even matter?_]

.

An indeterminate time later, I was successful. With one final kick, I burst through the wall of my cage. But-

I wasn't free. _I wasn't free_.

It was still dark. There were still walls.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to cry.

This isn't fair!

Why me?

Where am I?

Would I ever escape?

I thrashed about, unleashing my frustration. Mercilessly, I pounded on the new walls. _Let me out of here!_

And then I felt the walls of my cage contract. I froze in horror. My worst fear had been realized-I was going to be crushed.

_No! I don't want to die_-

and then, I recommenced my escape efforts. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I kicked again, and, to my surprise, part of wall broke open. I kicked it again, and again, and again. _I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die Let me out Let me out Let me out-_

From behind closed lids, my eyes detected light. At first, I didn't believe it- I had spent too much time in captivity, maybe these new developments had caused me to hallucinate.  
>But then, I felt something grabbing me- <em>this feeling... plastic?<em>- and lifting me from the hell I had been trapped in. Something was cut off from me, and I could feel my lungs begin to work, taking in air for the first time in a long time.

It was then that everything I had gone through- the immobility, the loneliness, the darkness, the silence, the absolute hopelessness of the place that sucked away at my marrow and ate away at my mind, rushed up, mixing with my disbelief, my hope, my euphoria (_I'm free!)_, and I began to cry.

.

[_It was only later, after I realized that I had been reborn, that I understood the truth._]

I had been in a woman's stomach.

That woman was my mother.

All my frantic kicks and punches had caused her an extreme amount of pain.

The second wall I broke through was her uterus.

…

_Why was everything so red?_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Alright, so I'm restarting this fic, because the first chapter of this was actually terrible originally. I'm going to go a little slower this time. To my one reviewer, thank you for reminding me of what I had forgotten.  
><em>


	2. Different

"Wicked heart; evil design"

I confess, I let the trauma of the death of an unknown woman get to me, and I didn't really act like the child I looked like.

I've never thought myself stupid, but looking back, it was probably one of the worst mistakes I could have made.

* * *

><p><strong>Circumstance<strong>

**Mistake II: Different**

_"I know always that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still men."_

_-H.P. Lovecraft, _The Outsider

* * *

><p>I think of my past life often.<p>

I can't help it- even though, logically, I know that there is no use in thinking of what I had lost, I know that I'm never going to go back home where everything was much warmer [_happiness and comfort and a feeling of belonging that I can't find here because __**this isn't home**__ and I'm an outsider and I just __**don't belong**_]. Even now, three years since I last saw home, I sometimes get overcome by a wave of sadness. But I don't cry anymore. I haven't since I was ripped from That Woman's stomach. Sometimes, I think I'm going to- but then I find that I can't.

There's nothing left.

And every time I realize that, I want to cry.

.

The village I reside in in my new life is small: I think there are about sixty permanent residents, and only handful of people who travel around on their own. Everyone knows everybody here, and the only time I see a fresh face is when traders pass through and do business with us- but even the traders become recognizable, because it's the same few people that pass through. For the most part, it's actually rather boring- my father keeps me away from any kids my age, and I've been expressly forbidden to explore, or wander about without him beside me. We do have one, yearly festival of some sort, but my father has locked me in the house both times, so all I could do was listen to the festivities. I can't even _read _in this life- my father has neither the time nor the patience for such things and he probably thinks it's too early for things anyways. Similarly, my comprehension of the language (it sounds japanese to me, so perhaps I'm in a mountain in Japan? Does Japan even have habitable mountains?) is, while probably very good for my apparent age, not quite up to the levels of fluency that older people have.

Another contribution to my boredom is that the location of the village isn't all that great; we live tucked away on a mountain, and there are always these giant thunderstorms that making the journey up to us treacherous. So, we can't exactly visit relatives or hop over to a larger settlement for a night of fun. To top things off, since mountains aren't exactly conductive of plant life, we are very dependent upon the traders that bring us food, spices, cloth, and news, and as a result they charge rather exorbitant prices that I always hear Tomomi, who is our village 'Sendou' and in charge of those types of village matters, argue over with my father and the other three men that frequently accompany my father. The only thing keeping us from starving, I think, is the game that the hunters of our time periodically go out to kill.

Yeah, that's right. Hunters.

I don't know if I've gone back in time, or if I've been reborn into some third-world village on a mystical mountain on an island connected to Japan, but we have a small group of people called 'Chishio'- Brothers of Blood. I'm not exactly sure if they're all related (who knows, this village is small enough- the likelihood that everyone is related to everyone is pretty high. We all look pretty similar, at least), or if 'blood' refers to the fact that they hunt and kill animals. I stay away from them when I can, because they're rather intimidating, and I've never been all that brave. It's kind of difficult though, seeing as who my father is.

My father is, from what I can tell, an influential member of our community. It's not hard to see why; never before have I seen such a logical man. He's impassive, exacting, intelligent, and strong; his eyes hold no compassion for me, his only child. He almost seems to be on a different level from everyone else- it's as if he is a god that is gracing us with his presence for some unknown purpose. There's a constant air of mystery exuding from him, and it makes him untouchable.

I'm terrified of him.

Whenever he comes near, my instincts scream for me to run far, far away. My pulse skyrockets, my breath shortens, and my limbs quake. It's like I'm back in-[_don't say it don't remember just stop_]

.

They watch Hiruko's daughter constantly.

"Do you think she-"

"_It_ was an omen. She's probably-"

"-that's why she was born, it's her _duty_-"

"She looks _just like_ her father-"

She's still just a child, but she holds herself like an adult. She's extraordinarily focused for a two-year-old. Most of the time, she seems to be in a place far from their home, a place they can never reach, a place incomparable to their own. It seems to them that she did not think she was one of them, and sometimes she gets send _look_ that seems to say, "I know who you are and what you have done." That one day, she would rip them up and drag them down, and _there was nothing they could do._

They're terrified of her.

But, at the same time, they're not. Because she's just a child, and children can be molded. She might not be obedient now, but they can change her, with time.

[_Never once did she cry. Though he never admitted it, Hiruko was unnerved._]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Alright, this chapter was completely different than my original draft... Before, it was kind of an __infodump/deep look into the past of her father. I actually liked it quite a bit- but then I realized it would be more fitting near the end of this arc... After you see what he has done, how he acts, then you will finally understand him. I actually kind of like his character, but I doubt you guys will for a good while yet, and perhaps you may never come around._

_Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter. I've released a little bit of information, Next chapter will be when she finds out... It should be up soon-ish... Also, I apologize for the two Japanese words in it, but think of them like titles- instead of capitalizing and calling them the Brothers I'm calling them the Chishio. Instead of calling Tomomi the leader of internal and external non-militaristic affairs, I call her the Sendou._


	3. Boredom

"Wicked heart; evil design"

I should have slowed down. But I was tearing at the seams. _Three years _of doing _nothing_. I was never allowed out of the house without my father, and the times I visited the village with him were few and far between. I had no friends. No books. No internet. I needed to distract myself with _something._ My education was just the first thing that came along.

* * *

><p><strong>Circustance<strong>

**Mistake III: Boredom**

_"Expression is never helped by suppression." _

_-Deng Ming-Dao_

* * *

><p>I never actually call my new father "Father."<p>

I can't bring myself to replace my old father. I _refuse. _This man that I live with will never love me as much as he did. He will never comfort me, never hug me, never laugh with me and cry with me. He is not my _true_ father, so I will never address him aloud as such.

Being as aware of everything as Hiruko is, I don't doubt he has already noticed. But, him being his impassive self, it's difficult to tell if he's bothered. He's certainly never brought it up in conversation, but then again, we don't really talk about anything besides my education and training. Still, it's difficult to tell if he truly sees me as his daughter.

That is not to say that he is neglectful. When I was still in diapers, he had a local girl hired to take care of my needs. Up until my third birthday, I didn't actually see him much- our infrequent trips to the village together were our only true 'family bonding' times for the first three years of my life. However, as soon as I turned three, he began to hang around the house for most of the day. The local girl still comes around, but only to cook the meals. I have a feeling that, once I am old enough to see over the counter, even she will be gone, and I will be the one to cook. I'm not really sure how I feel about that- I was never a big fan of cooking for myself in my past life, but I have the funny feeling that cooking might become my one respite from my father in the years to come. Because, except when she comes around to cook, it's just me and my father in this large, traditional Japanese house.

Before he began to pay attention to me, I would walk around the house, village girl in tow. I would spend hours, tuning out the prattling of the girl, and ponder over the merits of making a break for the village, if only to lessen the monotony. I think I have every grain of wood in this house ingrained into my brain. At the very least, I can navigate the entire structure blind.

However, after my third birthday, my daily walks around the house were put to an abrupt end. I don't know what happened, but he stopped going to the village for long stretches of time, and began to spend the majority of the day with me. But it isn't your typical father-daughter bonding time. Instead, right after a silent breakfast, he takes me to his study, and instructs me in my readings and calligraphy. It is these times, in the early morning, sitting alone in his cozy study, that I began to feel more of a kinship with this cold man. I still fear him- but the fact is, it's tiring to keep my guard up at all times. Ever so slowly, I began to ignore the warnings my brain sends me whenever he nears. I actually have begun to look forward to our daily study sessions- even though the snail-pace I am learning how to read and write is extremely frustrating.

_Damn _the Japanese writing system. _Damn _it to hell.

And _calligraphy_... Well, let's just say I won't be winning any competitions.

The afternoons are different. After a quick lunch from the kitchen, we head over to the center of the house for training.

Our house is, like I said before, rather traditional. It has only one story. There are sliding paper doors, floors made of tatami, and long hallways the border the inside and outside of the house. In the center of the house, instead of rooms, there is a large green, with a few trees, a small koi pond, and wooden training posts. Before I began to practice martial arts with my new father, I would go out on the green and run my hands through the water, watching the little fish dart away from my probing fingers. For hours, I could lie there, playing with the water and pretending that there was a light breeze to tease my hair gently.

No longer.

Instead, for hours, I go out with my sire and train. I suppose it's just my luck that I have been reincarnated into a family that practices martial arts. But it's not that I'm entirely opposed to learning how to fight- I've always thought karate and aikido and all that was pretty interesting. It's just that, when we train, my father loses that softness he sometimes shows when teaching me to read. He's exacting, and relentless. The harder I push, the harder he pushes me. It is rare when he actually shows approval, but when he does I feel like a thousand suns burn within me, and I strive even more, leading him to raise the bar. It's a little sickening, how much I've grown dependent on his approval, but I can't stop this brutal cycle that he so insidiously manufactured.

But, despite the indoctrination... Despite the ink-stained fingers, the difficulty of learning a second language, the bruises, the disgusting metallic taste I get in my mouth whenever I push past my limits, I am grateful. Because [_at least now, I don't have so much time to think about what happened, about what I did to __**her**__-_] I now had two things I could devote my entire self behind. Long after Father has left the house after our training sessions, I practice my reading and my katas. I practice and I practice and I keep going until I collapse. And then, when I wake in my bed the next morning, [_a small part of me acknowledges that only **he **could have moved me, but if I accept it consciously then I will have to admit that he might actually care for me, the imposter who took away his actual daughter. But I'll __**never **__he his daughter, and he will __**never **__replace my first father, so I just lie to myself that I've begun to care as well.] _I would repeat the cycle.

I never gave myself time to think, and it is in this way that I suppress the dangerously unstable part of me I can always feel pushing at the back of my mind, straining for release and steadily growing stronger.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I lied, she doesn't find out until chapter 5. And I apologize for the wait, but you'll be glad to know that I have the entire first arc planned out. You won't be glad to know that only one canon character shows up in it._

_If that's not your cup of tea, I apologize, but that will not change._

_The only thing that might change is the amount of chapters. I might consider combining some planned chapters, in order to make it so that it takes less chapters for her to get around to really changing things. In fact, in this first arc, she changes nothing. But, if I do combine chapters, then it will take much longer for updates to happen. I'm an incredibly slow typer, and I hate editing my work, so it takes a while for me to complete chapters, even as short as they are._

_Until next time, in which our main character runs away and makes a friend. And you finally figure out what the hell her name is._


	4. First Impact

"Wicked heart; evil design"

I didn't know then. The impact she would have on my life. But, I like to think that I had an idea.

* * *

><p><strong>Circumstance<strong>

**Fate I: First Impact**

"_Each meeting occurs at the precise moment for which it was meant. Usually, when it will have the greatest impact on our lives."_

_-Nadia Scrieva, _Fathoms of Forgiveness

* * *

><p>The truth of the matter is that, in my past life, I wasn't a very driven person.<p>

I was the one who let things happen to her. I didn't act, I _re_acted. I didn't like to move, but when someone else moved me, I went without complaint. Afraid of backlash. Afraid of rejection. Afraid, afraid, afraid. [_Someone like me doesn't deserve a second chance._]

I don't know what it is about this place, but, all this numbness has birthed a growing lack of care for the disapproval of others. That is to say, I became less wary of consequences.

Some revelations come slowly. They start as tiny buds under layers of other, more prevalent thoughts that slowly, through time and careful attention, blossoms into a flower that demands attention frequently. These revelations are those that do not seem like revelations, insidious as they are- by the time they have bloomed, they have become a core part of you, and you are incapable of uprooting them.

Others burgeon like flames. There is a small spark- a stray strand of tinder alights in the corner of the mind- and suddenly a wildfire is borne, razing down the fields that once smothered it. It consumes the mind and suddenly you are no longer in control of your own thoughts. Impassioned by one idea, blind to all else. It sweeps you up unexpectedly, and before you know it you are no longer where you once were, in a place entirely foreign to your own.

Five months after I turned three, I woke up and decided to run away.

Had I been thinking rationally, I would have remembered the futility of such an action. But I wasn't, and I didn't.

And now I stand in a small copse behind a house, with no idea how the hell I got here.

I try to think back, remember what happened after I voiced my feverish decision, but I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't andI'm scared because the one thing I value the most is my autonomy, and if my own mind has begun to take even _that _away then I was doomed, doomed, doomed. [_writhing and kicking and wanting to scream "__**LET ME OUT**__" but there's nothing I can do and the walls are closing in and it's __**suffocating **__me and I can't-_] I began to tremble, and I squeezed my arms around my midriff to stop myself, but I couldn't and now my lips are trembling and _oh god I'm about to cry_-

"Hello?"

I stopped. No. Someone was here? No. They can't see me cry, they just can't. I squeeze my eyes closed decided to ignore them. Maybe if I ignore them for long enough, they'll get the memo and leave.

"Is somebody there?" The voice belongs to a child. It's squeaky and innocent, but not at all grating.

These words strike me as strange though, because the voice seems to be somewhat close. Can't they see me? What are they playing at?

"Please, I know you're there. It's not very nice for you to ignore me."

I don't even notice that my shaking has stopped, because my curiosity has won out and I've turned around and I can see a small girl standing there, hand on an aspen tree, only she can't see _me _because she's blind.

The blind girl steps forward hesitantly, releasing the deathgrip she has on the aspen to come closer, face scrunched in concentration. Her caution is for nought though, when her foot twists on an unexpected pothole and she crashes to the ground. Without really thinking about it, my training kicks in and I race over and catch her.

"Ah! I knew there was someone there! Thank you, mysterious stranger." The girl giggled a little. I stood there dumbly, not sure what to do now that I had inadvertently confirmed my existence. "I'm okay now." Her voice is gentle, and a little chiding. Startled, I let go of her, only to have her crash at my feet at the abruptness.

I make a small noise of distress, and flutter around the fallen girl in a panic. As she slowly picks herself up, I awkwardly and hesitantly pat the dirt on her clothes and hair. She gives the air a vaguely confused look, which I assume is pointed towards me, and sends me into more of a panic. Does she have a concussion? I lightly slap her cheek, in order to... well, honestly, I guess I wasn't thinking all too much, because apparently all that training paid off and my 'light' slap was enough to send her to the ground again.

I wring my hands together and frantically collect the fallen girl, who seems to be in a state of shock. I drag her over to a small tree stump and sit her down, before racing over to a small flower bush, relieving it of about half of its flowers into a disorganized bouquet. Running back over, I thrust it into her hands. Breaking my unconscious vow to silence, I stutter, "I'm so sorry I didn't mean- I've been training and- here's some flowers they're really pretty, I mean, they're really soft and they smell nice... Um, um, um, I, ah, don't get out much- I'm not a healer, I can't- I'm sorry..." I trail off, my face turning a bright shade of red when I realize how much of a fool I've made of myself. The girl with the scar on both her eyes still doesn't say anything. She is holding my [_horrible, unorganized, this isn't a proper apology_] bouquet in her right hand, and holding her red cheek in another. She looks to be a few years older than me, maybe five or six. Her hair is white in the way that only albinos and people in anime worlds can be, and though sullied by the dirt it still seems to shine in a way that my old self would have been jealous of [_and isn't that ridiculous, a sixteen-nearly-seventeen-year-old being jealous of a five-year-old but then again I'm also three and twenty and I don't even know anymore_]. Her skin is very pale, and, though it is still too early to really tell, she seems to have the beginnings of a very fair face in the future. I would almost call her childishly beautiful, but the scar across her eyes was too gruesome for that. Subconsciously, my mind analyzed that the scar could have only been intentional by the jaggedness and sheer _malice_ that radiates from it. I would've been disgusted if I wasn't so fascinated by this strange girl, the first unfamiliar face in years. It doesn't make sense, but something in me is screaming that this girl-

-isn't silent anymore, but curled into herself and trembling, sending me into a panic again. "No, no, no, _please _don't cry I'm sorry, um, uh..." Remembering what my mother used to do in my past life, I got closer to her and, moving the hand covering her cheek away gently, I planted a sloppy kiss. "Pain, pain, go away, never to come back again..." I sung in my native tongue [_I never stopped speaking it, I just never did when other people were around. It seems to be the only thing that validates my previous life, these days, and I hold onto it like a drowning man a liferaft_], about to mangle together more childhood rhymes for her, when I realize the girl isn't crying, she is _laughing._

"Eh?"

At my bewildered exclamation, she lost it. Doubling over, her laughter bounces off the aspens in the small copse, and I felt my face redden. "F-fine! You seem to be okay, so... so screw you!" Embarrassed and drowning in my body's impulses, I made to leave, but was stopped by a small hand clutching the leg of my pants.

"Wait, please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. Stay for a while." She sits up, and feels around for the tree stump for a bit before she manages to re-situate herself. I just stand there, not sure of what I should be doing, and feeling every bit of those years of isolation. [_I've forgotten how to hold a proper conversation and isn't that sad?_]

"What's your name? How old are you? I've never heard your voice before. You sound young." She tilts her head to the side, and thin strands of white hair slide off her shoulder to caress her face. The sunlight filters in such a way that it only hits her, and to me she seemed like a broken angel.

There is silence, before I realize that she is waiting for my reply. Oddly flustered, I can't find any words. But she doesn't seem to care that I've returned to my mute state, as after a large stretch of quiet she begins to carry a conversation for the both of us.

"I've never met anyone back here. I live with my father, but he's always busy. He's the head chef of the village, and he's always cooking for the restaurant. Father's always tired. I think it's because I'm a bit of a hassle. I can't help out at the house or restaurant, and I think I remind him a lot of mother. I try to stay away from him, but I don't have any friends and I can't go out into the village without someone to help me, so I have to come here and think. This is the first time I've met a person here." She speaks of her life plainly. She doesn't pity herself, she simply sees her world as it is, to me that seemed unbearably sad. She paused, probably to give me an opening to speak up, but I stay silent. Her face twists into something similar to a rueful expression. "Have you ever thought for so long that your thoughts begin to mangle together? Like, your brain gets tired of coming up with new thoughts, so it takes a break and leaves you really confused? It's really strange. I'm glad you came here, it's nice to talk to people."

As she speaks my breathing quickens, and I fight the rising panic [_and relief because she_ **understands**]. My hands begin to shake again and suddenly, I feel like I have to get _away_. But before I do-

"... It's Akumu."

Her face is blank for a moment before she remembers her previous question. Then she smiles, and I'm frozen again.

"It's nice to meet you, Akumu. My name is Seira."

.

_Seira._

_I'm sorry._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry (the irony of the echo doesn't escape me), they just didn't want to meet. This chapter is super-crappy. UGH. I would like to apologize, I'm not actually a very good writer. And writing in the present tense is a bitch. Seriously. But it _does_ add something. Or at least changes something. Also, in case you really haven't gotten it, every time there are _[blah]_, that means she's thinking, both consciously and unconsciously. It's in place of the customary italicized stuff, and it's really just a stylistic choice. _

_I realize that the way I write isn't actually good writing, so **if anyone could review to help me that would be awesome**. _

_By the way, I have editing. I kind of gave up, and it probably shows._

_If you noticed, the beginning thing says 'Fate' instead of 'Mistake.' This isn't a mistake; it's a change in theme. Every time the theme changes, so will that little bit in the beginning change. It'll be a clue for you guys what will happen in the chapter._

_If you haven't noticed, Seira, and their relationship, is extremely important. So yeah. Watch out._

_Until next time, in which our character realizes exactly what she has gotten herself into (finally). It's worse than she could have ever imagined._


	5. World Shift

"Wicked heart; evil design"

That day, my new life took a turn in an unprecedented direction.

* * *

><p><strong>Circumstance<strong>

**Descent I: World Shift**

_As a child I knew almost nothing, nothing beyond what I had picked up in my grandmother's house. All children, I suppose, come into the world like that, not knowing who they are._

_-V. S. Naipaul_

* * *

><p>It doesn't take Hiruko long to find me, but I almost don't care. I greet his disapproving face blandly, mind still replaying the conversation with Seira, [<em>if that can even be considered a conversation. You're <em>_**pathetic**__._] trying to make sense of it. It was strange. I haven't had a friend in years- the village girl doesn't count, I don't even know her **name**. A foreign feeling is welling up in my chest, and I try to regulate the frantic beating of my heart to carefully-measured breaths.

"Well?"

I start. His voice is close. He had approached when I was lost in thought, and is giving me that cold glare that means he is well and truly pissed.

"..." I stay silent. Really, I have nothing to say. I've never found excuses to be particularly conducive of forgiveness.

We stare at each other for a while, before my natural deference gives way and I take to looking at the ground. There is a pause, where I suspect he collects himself, before he harshly grabs me by my hair and begins to drag me the way he came from. I can't stop the involuntary cry of pain when he first grabs me, but an even harder tug that sends me to my knees, legs and palms scraping against the unforgiving dirt path, quickly silences me, and I struggle to scramble to my feet and keep close behind him for minimal injury to my already-throbbing scalp. I thank whatever deity is out there that my hair is long and that he is a short man, but even with that I'm still straining on my tippy-toes to maintain contact with the ground. All thoughts of Seira are gone, only an overwhelming fear of what he will do to me.

We come to a fork in the road, but he doesn't take the path that will lead us home. I freeze for a moment in surprise, but a sharp tug fixes my hesitation. Even though I'm bursting with questions, I stay silent. No reason to piss him off more.

We walk under a red-orange Torii gate. My surroundings are completely unfamiliar now, and despite myself I strain to look around my father to determine our location. Eyes widening, I take in a large, five-story pagoda, with red walls and black, shingled roofs. It seems to exude an ominous aura, and unconsciously, I try to dig my heels into the ground. I begin to shake, and my breathing quickens.

"Akumu." He says. Jolted out of my thoughts, I stare at him with wide eyes. Roughly, he yanks me through the entrance and tosses me onto the wooden floor.

I lie, frozen, eyes fixed on the man as he walks past me to stand in the middle of an array painted with what seems to be red paint on the floor. He seems to be collecting himself, preparing a speech of some kind. I suddenly remember myself and hurriedly collect my legs underneath me in a proper seiza. I figure the only way I can mitigate my punishment at this point is to stay silent and follow the codes of behavior my father has been teaching me.

"Akumu," He repeats, and I force myself to stare directly into his eyes. "It is time that you learn the ways of our people, and of our terrible burden." He waves off my silent question, and takes a deep breath. Then he begins to pace.

"Long ago, there existed the Great Being of Chaos. The Great Being saw the world was not following the correct path, burrowing farther and farther into a terrible illusion that would lead to the destruction of both heaven and earth. The Great Being made the decision to intervene before the humans were too far gone, and descended upon the Man With the Book. It taught Him the secrets of the world, and passed along It's teachings, entrusting with Him the sacred duty of spreading the word of the Great Being.

"The Great Being told the Man With the Book that our world was suffering under the delusion of order- and that it was the duty and the right of It's followers to unveil the chaotic nature of the world and free it from it's constraints. _That _is our task, our sole purpose for living. And as the daughter of this village's Ko Fusha, you must adopt this task and strive to carry it out for all your days. It is the will of the Great Being Jashin."

Then, he stops talking. He is waiting for me to speak, it seems. Perhaps, he wants me to espouse this religion he has so abruptly dropped into my life. [_Maybe, not so much as dropped as __**smashed through the pretty glass of ignorance with a 15-ton anchor rusted with blood.**_] But my mind, funny little thing, latches onto one thing in particular.

"... Jashin?" [_like, Naruto-the-manga Jashin? No, this can't be real. Stop this, tell me it's a lie._]

He nods, and then the red array [_oh god, that's blood, isn't it?_] on the floor begins to glow blue. As if blown by his own personal wind, his hair begins to float, his clothes to pinch and gnarl. The very air grew oppressive, and my bones felt much heavier. The-Man-Who-Is-Not-My-Father holds out his hand to where I lie outside the array, eyes wide, body trembling in the face of such an inconceivable power. "Akumu," He says, "Come."

It is then, as my eyes feasted on the otherworldly sight before me, that the strangest thing happens. My fear disappears, and the world shrinks to just Him and Me. Suddenly, I realize, with perfect clarity, that I am at the first definitive crossroads of my new life [_and there's no going back after this_]._  
><em>

My whole life- new and old- flashes by me. All of my experiences, my emotions, my thoughts, whips through me in a blur and at the end of it I just go back to my months in That Woman's stomach and I remember-

_I want to live._

I reach out and grab his hand.

...

_I'm in the world of Naruto._

_The world..._

_I'm **fucked.**_

* * *

><p><em>AN: So she knows. Hurrah._

_By the way, for the temple I'm basically mangling together random Japanese temples together. Please don't pick it apart too much. This is the website I used, just in case you're interested in this stuff._

_factsanddetails japan/cat20/sub129/item2783 .html_

_Akemee! Wow, I didn't think you were still following this. Wow, thanks for the support. And I'm super-critical of my writing, so whenever I read over my stuff I wince. Haha. Anyways, thank you for reviewing, and it's because I'm lazy that I'm replying here._

_Also, I didn't reply to you either, Amai-chan1993, so I'll reply here. I won't make a habit of this, I promise. Anyways, thank you for the encouragement. I hope it will garner more readers, but only time will tell._

_BTW, SORRY FOR THE DELAY! But, you'll be happy to know that I have completely written the history of the Cult of Jashin, and tease you with the little tidbit that all is not what it seems in the written history. And what, you may ask, is a "Ko Fusha"? Well, you will just have to find out. Also, to anyone who actually knows Japanese, don't kill me for how I'm probably bastardizing your language._

_Also, I found a fic called "Oh, Those Places I Always Meant to Go". It's by i'llchangeitlater, so don't search by author or you might get screwed over. It's a Harry Potter "Snape-goes-back-in-time" fic (but he kind of forgets), and the writing style is pretty interesting._

_Anyways, until next time, in which she meets three very intimidating men and re-evaluates the wisdom of her decision to live._


	6. Bend, Relent, Shatter

"Wicked heart; evil design"

My habit started with the crane.

I'm sick. I'm sick. I'm sick.

* * *

><p><strong>Circumstance<strong>

**Descent II: Bend, Relent, Shatter**

_"Because pieces of your heart clearly weigh more when they're sitting shattered at the bottom of your stomach." _

_― Heather Brewer, _First Kill

* * *

><p>I reach out with one hand, toying with my memories and humming <em>Love Song Requiem<em>. For once, I don't feel like doing anything.

Of course, my sire [_not even in my thoughts do I consider him a father any longer, not a man who condones-_] never seems to march to my beat, and decides today of all days to invite three older men to the house. I can hear their indistinct murmuring in the greeting area from where I lie by the koi pond in the courtyard. I have a feeling they're here for me- after all, the only thing that's changed since yesterday is that _I know._

Sure enough, the voices get closer, and now I can catch the tail end of their conversation.

"... is her?" This man's tenor is smooth, like chocolate. I suppress a shiver. He has one of those slow drawls, the ones that slink across your skin like a slimy slug [_Insidious bastards_].

"Not much. Petit. Can train?" The second voice is low and growly and I try not to flinch as my mind is sent back to videos of anthropomorphized tigers and lions.

The third man spoke. "It's in her blood." He speaks without inflection, more reminiscent of a robot than a human. He is empty, and I feel cold.

I can feel it- they're all dangerous. I need to [_runawayrunawaydangerdanger__**wee**__-ooh__**wee**__-oohambulenceonislethree_] be careful. I lower my outstretched hand and use it to push myself up and greet them. They are all dressed in blood-red yukatas, with sleeves decorated with a seemingly random number of black lines. One man, with wild black hair and steely grey eyes, holds a large crane. My sire is not there.

[_Time to face the music._]

They all sit down in front of me [_not in the traditional seiza, but indian-style, criss-cross-applesauce, and why didn't I find that odd before, what with the Japanese so fixated on tradition? Jashinism is rooted in chaos, of course they would rebel even on the smallest of things._], and I hurry to mirror their lax poses. I take a deep, shaky breath, and look right into the man in the middle's [_Probably the leader, probably chocolate-man._] eyes. I wait.

It does not take long. To my surprise, Robot speaks first. He has short, salt-and-pepper hair, and I can see age lines have begun to settle on his face. "Akumu, child of Hiroko-the-Sixty-Fifth-and-current Ko Fusha. We have come to pass on our legacy." But then I see him bow his head to the middle man, Mr. Chocolate-makes-my-skin-crawl, a man with long brown hair and unsettlingly blue eyes. I think Robot only spoke first to introduce him.

Mr. Chocolate leans forward, and it takes all of my willpower not to lean back. [_He's too close._] "As is the will of Our Lord Jashin, you are tasked with the duty to spread the word of Jashin and to wreak havoc upon those who oppose us. You will forever remain in the service of our village and our circle, on pain of sealing and sacrifice. Do you accept our doctrine as your own?" I grimace at the mention of sealing [_the blue light is-his hand and- "You cannot leave unless-" no, why, __**idiot-**_], but voice no protest, and accept. I have no choice.

"Watch." It is the grey-eyed Tiger-man. The crane [_how did he find one on a mountain? They're wetland creatures._] in his arms is squirming, but the large muscles in his arms don't even look like they feel the strain of securing it. Then, before I have time to react, he holds the crane up by the neck with one hand and slashes at one of its wings with the other. Blood sprays, splattering all over my face, and a once-pure wing drops to the floor with a sickening _thud_. There are no words.

"Take." He shoves the crying bird at me. Numbly, I take it from his stained claws. The crane's eyes are wide, it's screeches painful and _I can't run._

"Akumu." My head jerks up. The man in the middle is studying me, judging me [_you knew this would happen, get your shit together or they'll kill you now (but the __**crane) STOPITSTOPITNOW.**_], and I wipe my face of all expression. It is easier than I thought it would be.

[_I want to live._]

My voice is steady when I speak. "What must I do?" The crane flops helplessly in my child-arms. It's struggles are weak, and I have no trouble holding it. [_It's just like me, suffocated by this horrible village with its' horrible religion in this horrible world, but I __**refuse **__to die._]

"Kill the crane." His eyes are ice and there's so much that isn't being said that I want to shout that _I am only three years old how could you do this_. "Kill it, and prove to us that you will follow," His voice drops in pitch, he leans close enough that I can feel his breath upon my face, and my eyes are locked to his. "You _will _bend, and bow, and _**obey**_. _**Relent**_, you foolish girl." [_He knows I don't believe. He_ **knows.** _HeknowsheknowsheknowsohgodI'mgonnadie_] In this moment, he is an untouchable God. There is no Jashin, no World, no Sire, no Me. Just Him.

And then, in the corner of my eye I can see the Tiger-man tense imperceptibly, as if ready to release another barehanded slash.

I know he won't hesitate.

I sink my gaze to the dying bird. It's blood has stained my clothes. My fingers are dripping. Slowly, I trail my [_red_] pudgy child-fingers across the crane's pure white feathers, drawing them together around it's fragile neck.

"**_Relent_.**"**  
><strong>

I force myself and the crane to look each other in the eye.

[_I'm sorry._]

It cracks, and I crack with it.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Much quicker, ne? Did you think this would be a fun story? Well, if you had any such thoughts, I hope they're gone now. Though, I feel like I went overboard with the italics here._

_Don't worry, you'll find out who the three men are next chapter._

_By the way, I was updating the description and I saw that this fic is in FIVE communities. How the hell does that even happen? And why was I not informed when this happened? Not that I'm mad or anything, it's just a bit disconcerting._

_Also, the SOPA bill thing is coming around right now, so everyone get on board with smashing it to itty bitty pieces, kay?_


	7. Determination

"Wicked heart; evil design"

It was my wake-up call, in every sense of the word. I had two options- to bend, like He told me to, or to push forward with a new determination.

* * *

><p><strong>Circumstance<strong>

**Discovery I: Determination**

_"Determination gives you the resolve to keep going in spite of the roadblocks that lay before you._

_-Denis Waitley_

* * *

><p>After they left, my begetter sat me down and explained the structure of the village to me. I absorbed and internalized everything he said, determined to ignore the blood crusting and flaking on my skin.<p>

[_I want to take a shower. No, a bath. A fucking boiling bath with rose petals and fancy bubble foam, and just __**sleep**__._]

My village has five rulers. There is, of course, the 'Sendou,' a position currently held by Tomomi. She's our leader of internal and external non-militaristic affairs. She takes care of imports and exports, the management of evacuations in case of terrible weather [_we _do _live on_ _a mountain, after all._], and basically keeping things running smoothly internally while maintaining a relatively harmless facade with other villages and keeping the Central Village [_Kumogakure, probably. Honestly, all the signs were __**right in front of me if only I had the thought to **_**look**_**-**_] out of our hair.

Despite Tomomi's considerable power over the village, she isn't actually our true leader-that privilege lies only in the hands of the Supreme Leader. Our Supreme Leader is the man considered closest to the Great Being and the one most intimately connected to the writings of the Man With the Book- the 'Konton.' As the messenger of the Great Being Jashin, he guides everyone on the "correct Path," and as such his word is uncontested.

Even though the Konton is the one who spells out the laws, he is not the one responsible for ensuring everyone obeys. No, the job of enforcing the Konton's policies is that of the Jisshi. One might call the Jisshi the 'head of police' for the village. He (or she) has the immediate command of all of the Chishio in the village, and makes frequent patrols around the village.

But the Jisshi does not control _all _of the military personnel- the children, the future soldiers of Jashin, are all trained by the fourth leader, the Ikusu Ki. He (or she) guides the younger generations through their periods of self-discovery and gently guides them to the correct path, all the while providing the proper classroom shinobi education.

Which leaves the fifth, and final leader. The Ko Fusha: Hiruko. He did not skimp on the details.

While the Jisshi acts as the police, (s)he is not allowed to execute village residents. Instead, (s)he can issue strikes; three, no more, no less, and upon the third strike it is the sole duty of the Ko Fusha to execute the dissident. The strikes have to be justified, and may be issued on accounts of disobeying religious doctrine and village common law, and the disrespect of the five leaders. The only exception to the three-strike rule is in the case of a deserter. If someone were to seek to sell out village secrets, the Ko Fusha has within his/her authority to execute the deserter on the spot. Similarly, is one is revealed to be a heretic, who blasphemes against Jashin, immediate punitive action is sanctioned. Heretics themselves are called "Cranes," and are only mentioned in quiet whispers- speaking of Cranes outside of sermons is considered worthy of a strike.

[_Three strikes for people who cannot keep their divergence to themselves._] The air seems colder. My new father is the man in charge of executing denizens of our village. How could I possibly keep my disagreeable thoughts to myself for years on end? How could _I__-_

[_I want to live._]

The Konton works closely with all four sub-leaders to run the village like a well-oiled machine, and leave no bases uncovered. One might think that having multiple independent, considerable powers residing over a small population would be rife with dissent, but the charisma of the Supreme Leader and the faith of the villagers is so strong that there have never been any major upsets. I would be impressed if I weren't being suppressed.

I sit and digest the massive influx of information my sire just related to me, and I understand what he has been trying to say. My mind whizzes around, drawing and discarding, assuaging old anxieties and calculating new risks. Knowledge changes things. And on that note-

"Father..." His eyes flicker up in surprise, and I barely withhold a flinch. My little slip feels like a betrayal, a knife twisting in my gut. My heart hurts. [_Why did I call him that? He's not-he's not-_] I force myself to finish my line of inquiry. "Who were those men that just visited?"

I knew the answer, and he knew I knew. He also knew the question that I could not bring myself to ask _[what if they __**know**_?]. "The Konton, Jisshi, and Ikusu Ki visit every prospective Hakai."

I let out an imperceptible sigh of relief, before I fully process his words. "...Hakai?"

My Fat-no, the Father of Dead-Akumu [_because she **is** dead, she died when I became aware- as I struggled she faded, and in doing so I killed her._] holds my gaze. "Akumu, you are going to be a shinobi."

My heart stops. There are no words.

In my past life, I found it difficult to motivate myself. Left to my own devices, I would retreat for hours and swim in a nonproductive state. In school, I would block out everything and everyone. It was only when forced into a commitment-be it by peer pressure or by the will of my parents- would I gain presence. And even then, there was always a dull fear- a fear of rejection, a fear of incompetence. Because even when I would claw my way into motion, I could never go above and beyond. As everyone around me grew and solidified their identities, I floundered in silence- too prideful to speak, too fearful to change. Apathy and fear waged an interminable war within me, and I grew distant from the ones I loved.

But in this new life, very slowly, I began to change.

When I was in That Woman's stomach, I panicked. I clawed and I screamed and I warped, became a twisted simulacrum, a mere shadow of my previous self. Upon delivery, my old personality was sanded to nothing, and I became an almost blank state. And then, motivated by my nightmares, I began to take the initiative. No longer did I shy from work, I _embraced_ it.

I'm not the girl I used to be, not really. Because while the vestiges of her fears still swirl within me, they no longer define me. I am not that pampered high school girl, I am not the beloved daughter, the annoying sister, the weirdo friend. I am stronger, now. I live on a mountain with my not-quite father in a world where a sole man redirecting lighting with his bare hands is not unheard of. I am not The Girl From Before. I am Akumu.

I don't know what I did to get to start over. Because, even if this is a crapsack world, this is now _my _crapsack world. Right now, I am surrounded by an impregnable cage- but I'm not dead. If I am patient, and dedicated, I will grow to snap these bars to oblivion, but until then... Until then, I have a brand new life and infinite branches of opportunities splayed out before me.

I can't look back now- I _won't_ look back. For Them. For Myself.

I take a breath. It's time I grew up. It's time I moved on.

To be completely truthful, I can't think of a single reason why I, of all people, was chosen. I'm not a particularly good public speaker, nor am I overly intelligent, or politically savvy, or fearless.

But even still, I want...

No.

I **_will_ **live.

I look my begetter-[_no. No matter how he treats me, I have to take it. **I'm** are the one who took away his daughter. The least I can do is let him live with this one misconception._]-I look my father straight in the eyes. My mouth sets in a determined line.

[_I will bleed. I will despair. I will cry, and hate, and scream._

_But I will also run, and laugh, and love._

_I will live._]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Come at me bro. (I was so tempted to put this at the end. It's my headcannon, even if it's a bit much._

_I apologize for the gratuitous capitalization and the profuse (and undoubtedly bastardized) japanese. Again, it's more for my convenience than yours. Here are my (non-spoiler-y) notes for each position of leadership and the men/woman who hold those positions, to make your life easier:_

_Konton (CHAOS): Spiritual Leader, "Supreme Leader" 'messenger' of Jashin and most learned person in terms of acquaintance with the writings of the Man With the Book. "Mr. Chocolate." Long brown hair and icy blue eyes._

_Jisshi (ENFORCEMENT): 'police' of the community. Enforces clan policies. Speaks in short sentences. Wild black hair and grey eyes. "Tiger man"_

_Ikusu Ki (BREEDER): In charge of the education of the young people. 'indoctrination.' No inflection when speaking. Short, salt-and-pepper hair. "robot"_

_Ko Fusha (DELIVERER OF DEATH): Executes those who cannot obey [3 strikes], and those who flee. "Hiruko," Akumu's father._

_Sendou (GUIDANCE, LEADERSHIP): In charge of non-militaristic village matters, like provisions and travel paths. The current Sendou is Tomomi._

_UGH I HATE INFODUMP CHAPTERS GAHHHHH. I really hope that her finding her resolve wasn't too sudden. Don't worry, she's not all determinator now. It's easy to talk about moving on- actually doing so is a whole 'nother thing entirely. She wants to ignore her past right now, which isn't actually the best thing. She's just kind of suppressing her suffering in a different kind of way._

_Alright! Six chapters till the first time skip, if you were wondering. The arc after this is gonna be funnnnn!~~_

_Until next time, in which Akumu meets her fellow ninja-to-be. (And I have fun trying to make them unique.)_


End file.
